Midnight Interlude
by bjxmas
Summary: S8 Post-Purgatory Dean. It's been a year without sex, a year without touch and a warm body beside him. Purgatory changes a man. Can he risk losing control and where that might lead? Will need override his defenses and allow him to be vulnerable enough to let someone in?


_S8 Dean, back from Purgatory and learning to live and love again._

_Rated M for mature themes, nudity and somewhat rough sex. Not my standard fare, so fair warning…_

xxx

"_Sex doesn't replace love, but it's a good substitute when nothing else feels real."_

Midnight Interlude

"Buy a girl a drink?"

The bar was dark. Decorated with dark wood and sparse lighting, with a dungeon feel. A place you sought out to disappear in, to lose yourself in your head, or hide out from yourself and the world. He picked it because it reminded him of there. In it's own way it too was pure. No pretense that it was more than it appeared. No expectations. It lacked what would normally be termed music, just a steady strum of bass reverberating off the walls. Just enough to keep the still from being too imposing. The hum reminded him of how it felt there, tension and terror melding into a steady drone of dread, constant and relentless, never allowing for rest or peace. The voice drew him out, back to the real world, back to what his life was now. He'd been alone too long, alone with his thoughts and errant emotions. He was ready for a change. "Sure." Thumping the bar with two fingers, he drew the barkeeps attention. "Two more."

"Thanks." She sat down on the stool beside him, her short skirt pulling suggestively higher as she crossed her shapely legs. "Haven't seen you around."

"Haven't been around."

"Here on business?"

It was only then that he looked up, studying her, smiling as realization dawned. "No, but you are, aren't you?"

She smiled in return, sure and sweet and inviting. Her hand caressed down her thigh, fingers tapping just above the knee, gently brushing against his leg in the process. Her voice was low, smoky and sexy with a barely there hint of a southern drawl. "Girl's gotta make a living."

"How's that goin'?" He licked his lips as a tease, relaxing for just a second, forgetting and allowing himself to react as he once did. "Business good?"

"Yeah…" Her dusty rose lips turned up in a perfect smile, her voice offering a not-so-subtle promise. "Looks like it just got a whole lot better."

"How's that?" His lips held a barely there grin, waiting, _needing_ to hear it. He'd heard it his entire life. How desirable he was, how lucky they'd be if only he would pick them. He knew he had the physical attributes that drew attention. Knew he was athletic and firm. Knew he was born pretty, had grown into handsome. His looks had always allowed him a retreat from the life and whatever other demons haunted him. Always opened the door to a good time. The pretty packaging showing the world one thing, what he allowed them to see. The rest, darkness and horror, held tight.

"A guy like you shouldn't be alone." She leaned in, whispering against his ear, "I can fix that."

"Everyone's alone." He took a long gulp of his whiskey to finish off his glass, staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the dark wood behind the bar before gravitating upwards until he was staring at himself in the dusky mirror. Dark eyes staring back.

"Aren't you a deep thinker." It was a statement, not a question. Her own eyes following the same path as his, observing him in the mirror, genuinely smiling at what she saw there before her green eyes cast a dim over her features, glimmering with understanding, then offering the chance to retreat. "You wanna be alone?"

"No."

"Me either."

Their eyes met within the safety of the mirror, a connection forged. Each seeing the other in the reflection. Each seeing themselves. He nodded to their drinks as he reached for his fresh glass and pulled it toward his lips. She wrapped her hand around her shot of whiskey and reached out to click glasses with him. Throwing back the whole of his shot he pushed off from his seat and stood.

She took a bit longer, savoring the liquor before licking her lips for that final taste and rising to join him. "I got a room. Not far."

He wrapped his arm around her waist as they walked out of the bar. She was petite but athletic, toned and muscled with a gymnast's body. Not a delicate flower likely to crack like fine porcelain if pushed hard. He closed his eyes for a second, debating with himself, questioning…trying to conquer that nagging doubt. He needed this…needed her. And he had to know.

The walk was mostly quiet. No need to make small talk. He wasn't in the mood and she seemed in tune with his needs, refraining from any unnecessary chitchat. He appreciated that. Appreciated that she was a professional and he didn't have to pretend, didn't need to act the part. He could simply be. They could just do this and the wait would be over.

The motel was upscale but comfy. The truth is he would have been more comfortable in a dive. Some dark, dank hole with cracked plaster and road noise from being situated too close to the interstate. As it was, it was quiet, too quiet. Quiet enough that he could hear his heart pounding out of his chest. Hear the howls from the woods, the groans and moans of creatures dying… _No, that was in his head. All he was trying to avoid._

Intuitively she seemed to sense his unease, actually absorbing some of the tension in the air, the turmoil rippling off of him in waves. Doing what she could to ease his unrest, practiced at being that conduit to safety. "You want some mood music?"

He tensed further, unused to someone reacting to him, noticing all the ticks and tremors he wrestled with daily. Bad enough he now had Sam watching him, waiting for him to crack. To simply break apart from the pressures of Purgatory and all the nasty reminders he couldn't shake. He needed a drink. Truth is he'd need several to get him through this night…_and_ the rest of his life. "Sure." He purposely flashed those pearly white teeth of his, enlisting a cocky grin from his repertoire. One that said he was in control, up for a good time, relaxed and ready for the fun to begin.

"You look like a classic rock kind of guy." She tuned the radio to a hard driving beat, that familiar thrum of bass pounding through his veins, stimulating and comforting at the same time. "How's that?"

Shifting, still uneasy, he concentrated on moving with purpose, then sinking into the moment and allowing instinct to take over. He reached out to grab her, pulling her close for a first kiss. He was demanding, pressing hard against her and devouring her lips. Licking and sucking, tasting and claiming. She responded well, her tongue flirting and teasing, giving as good as she got as they wrestled for dominance. Him conquering, her surrendering. Difficult to tell who won the first round.

When he needed to come up for air, when the fear had subsided enough to allow him to break away, he pushed free, one hand still holding her wrist, fingers pressing in possessively before he remembered to release his hold and take a step back. The music was drowning out the memories now, her subtle perfume masking the smells, the touch of someone soft and clean beside him bringing the biggest difference. He took a deep breath, acclimating himself to his surroundings, trying to forget there, hold on to here. His mind snapped back to the question she'd asked. For almost a full minute he couldn't remember, couldn't focus on what it was, so engrossed in the softness on offer, unwilling to retreat back a few minutes, fearful of descending back even further. "What?" Then it came flooding back in a deafening rush, _classic rock_…_that kind of guy_. "Ah, yeah…" He concentrated on modulating his voice, keeping it deep and true, hiding the tremor that lingered within. "Music…it's good." Despite his best efforts he was drifting, distant feelings ebbing, then fighting their way back to the surface, forever dancing in the shadows. Valiantly he was trying to conquer the dread that still poisoned his gut. He had to gain control, had to focus. He shifted, back to here, back to what he was doing now. Digging in, determined to appear casual. "So, how much?"

The swerve into left field didn't seem to faze her as she rolled off her price. "Two bills for an hour."

He took the time now to really look at her. He was a good judge of character. At least he used to be. The whole Cas thing and the mistrust with his brother had caused him to doubt himself, doubt his judgment. He used to be confident and sure, used to know how to do this and keep his distance. Used to know who he was and what he believed in. Everything had changed. He'd had to face up to disappointment and betrayal. Worst of all, he'd been forced to acknowledge he wanted to form bonds, wanted friends and a lover he could count on. _Lisa… _The last time he'd tried to find love and companionship had been a disaster. _That _he didn't need, couldn't risk. But _this_…this he needed. "How much for the night?"

Now it was her turn to study him, the scrutiny unsettling. He stared straight ahead, not allowing the fear to register, maintaining that stoic nothingness within his eyes, drawing the shades to hide in plain sight, not wanting her to see…or know_._ It was unnatural how he could not blink and yet stay hidden, his green eyes crystal clear in their brilliance, all shadows unreflective. Years of need perfecting his skills. His hands not as controllable as he absently tugged on his jacket before sinking his fists into his pockets to contain them, then flexing his fingers to fiddle with the keys to the Impala…finding comfort in the familiar…_avoiding._ When he couldn't stand the wait any longer he blinked back the shutters and opened the windows a crack, just enough to observe her, seeing kind eyes and a gentle face, someone who'd been there and found her way back. Someone he could care for…_no, he wasn't going there._ This was business, nothing more. That husky voice of hers interrupted his thoughts, bringing him back to the matter at hand. "For you, five hundred. That work?"

Relief swept over him, back on track, a business transaction. He cocked his head to the side, pinpoint dimples and a crooked smirk conveying his acceptance. "That'll do."

"You ready?" she gently asked, "Or you need some time?"

He glanced up, puzzlement momentarily flickering across his face before he was shaken out of his head and back to the room, slightly confused and a bit baffled before realization made clear her intent. "No…nothin' like that, darlin'." No, the equipment was definitely working, quite anxious to get this show on the road if he were to be honest about it. That definitely wasn't it. Still…he did need time. Time to get his head straight. Time to figure out why he was here, what he needed to prove.

"We can take it slow…" she softly offered, "After all, it's your dollar." She seemed sweet about it, willing to draw this out, that uncanny ability to see between the lines shining in knowing eyes. It unnerved him and yet it helped. "How about another drink? Got a bottle of Jack right here." She reached into the wall unit behind her and pulled out a bottle and two tumblers, starting to fill them before he answered. Truly knowing him even though they'd barely met.

The liquor went down smooth but then it always did. A slow rolling fire that slid down his throat and made a home in his gut. He liked the burn and the resulting warmth, liked the fuzzy haze that almost delivered an escape. Drinking was one of the things he'd missed in Purgatory. Going stone cold sober when his flask ran dry hadn't been pleasant, but then nothing about Purgatory was pleasant. Once he returned topside it hadn't taken much to get him back on the hard stuff. Opportunity and need a powerful combination.

Being a gracious host, she continued to pour as he finished each drink. A casualness about it, like it was to be expected. No condemnation reflected within her sensitive eyes, not like Sam counting off the drinks and chastising him for opening the bar too early in the day. Sam meant well, he knew that. He simply didn't need his brother pointing out his transgressions and documenting his faults with cutting comments. Judgment brought more burdens, the end result making him feel less somehow. He was perfectly capable of that on his own. As a hunter facing the Apocalypse, he'd needed the drinks. As a man returning from Purgatory, he needed a hell of a lot more. Still, the liquor helped.

After downing his last drink and gently placing the glass on the small table by the door, he purposely sat down on the hard chair beside it and leaned over to unlace his boots. The leather laces were slowly unwound from each individual grommet, taking his time before toeing off the boots and casually kicking them aside under the table. Then he removed his socks, his bare feet sinking into the soft carpet, flexing and feeling. It had been a long time since he'd gone barefoot, since he'd risked taking off his boots, lest he needed to make a hasty exit.

Tonight he wasn't going anywhere.

Mimicking his actions she slipped off her high heels, her toes curling as they found freedom within the lush carpeting. "Feels good, don't it?" He offered no reply and it didn't seem to bother her, still watching and waiting, following his lead.

The bed was wrapped in red, a present laid out and waiting. A bad choice, but then she couldn't know that. Red was romantic, roses and loving hearts, Valentines Day and all that. She had no way of knowing red meant other things to a hunter. Things that were nasty and vicious, deadly and condemning. A color he'd seen too much in his life. Something he'd been buried in for much of the past year, covered in blood and sweat, in guts and grime. He closed his eyes to the sight, reaching to flick off the light switch, leaving only the glow from the open door of the bathroom, diffused and acceptable.

With only a moment's hesitation he stood and shucked off his jacket, his long-sleeved shirt soon following. Left now with just a t-shirt, the V-neck exposing his throat, his arm muscles flexing as he gripped his hands into fists and then relaxed them. He took a deep breath, his tee rising up as it tightened like a second skin. He pulled at the bottom edge, his jeans riding low, allowing a gap and a flash of skin. He wasn't ready for that, not just yet. He still needed time. Just a little to turn off the protection and allow him to expose himself.

He'd never been shy about his body; never felt the need to hide. Less clothes had always meant more sex and that was definitely a good thing. He didn't understand this new reaction, found it strange and surreal, but then all he felt now was distant and unclear. All he had left to depend on was instinct. He just wasn't sure where that would lead him. He was unaccustomed to civilization now, more at home in the wild. Used to interacting with monsters, conditioned to fight to the death, at ease with the brutality and terrors Purgatory demanded.

In a well-practiced flirt, she brushed back her shoulder length hair with her fingers, just a casual swipe that drew his attention, pulling him out of his head and back to the room. Smiling at that small victory she then slid both hands down the sides of her hips, smoothing out her short skirt even though it was leather and didn't need smoothing out.

Her curves sucked him in, reminding him of why he was here, what he had to prove. Three broad steps and he was before her, his hands grazing over the swell of her hips, his fingers pressing in to lay claim while his face nuzzled into her long auburn hair, smelling her shampoo and tasting her neck. She smelled like comfort and hope, all other scents unimportant. Holding onto her he got lost in her warmth, his right hand reaching down to caress her thigh, soft and silky smooth as he lifted her skirt. Higher up he felt the round of her ass, discovering soft satin panties beneath the leather. Leather and lace holding more promises. His fingers lingered there, holding back, not taking it any further. Not yet. His chest was heaving, torn between moving forward and backing away. Unsure where the night might end.

Soft gasps filled the air, her reacting to his touch, moaning out an invite. Responding with his own short gasps, sucking in air before diving back in, he fell into the depths, continuing to explore her body, every beat of his heart taking him further out to sea. He closed his eyes and simply felt, all thought abandoned, sacrificed to the moment. He started to feel alive again, on the cusp of feeling whole. "So soft…" he murmured, "Want you…need you."

"I'm right here," she responded, rubbing against him, reaching for his tee and attempting to pull it over his head. He broke away just long enough for her to succeed and then her nails were raking over his chest, climbing up his back, kneading and massaging. His flesh trembled in anticipation, warmth and cold colliding. Every place her hands touched on fire, warm and inviting, then growing cold as her fingers moved on and cool air ghosted over the trail.

Growling in response, he ripped at her shirt, tearing off buttons in his haste, peeling back the layers, seeking out the heat. He needed to feel her warmth against his shivering skin. Needed skin on skin full body contact. She reacted with breasts heaving almost as much as his. His need building as he pawed at the fastening of her bra before flicking the hook open and pulling it free, casting it off to the floor. He cupped her breasts, one in each hand, heavy and firm, welcoming. He pressed against her, his teeth finding her shoulder, marking, claiming, just short of drawing blood.

Her hands were fumbling with the snap and zipper of his jeans, losing their hold as they bumped and grinded against each other. He had greater success with the zipper at the back of her skirt, yanking it down and then pushing the leather away. His thumb looped into the lacy band of her thong, taking it downward until she was leaning over and stepping out of her panties, standing before him totally nude.

He couldn't wait any longer, desire pushing him onward, the moment racing by. The only warmth he could generate held back by his jeans, base need demanding action. He made quick work of his pants, shoving them off along with his boxers. They smashed together, his lips finding hers, hands roaming, pulling and pressing. Both his hands grabbed hold of her bottom, strong arms lifting her up, her legs wrapping around him as she clung to him. He carried her over to the bed and they collapsed there, him on top, weighing her down. Rising up over her, his left arm locked in position, he was poised above her, leaning in and pressing down. Just enough to feel the contact, to maintain control, to hold her where he wanted her.

"So good, baby…yeah, like that." It was standard porn talk, but somehow he believed, believed in the passion that consumed him. Hoped it ruled her actions too. He had to believe.

He didn't need further encouragement, this ship was steaming forward, nothing could stop it now. Sex the fuel and the ignition. Every fiber of his being catching on fire, sparking and sizzling, a boiler burning hot. He grabbed her hands, roughly pulling them over her head, holding them tight with his left hand. Her two wrists encased by one firm grip. His right hand went about fondling her breasts and pinching her nipples before traveling down to the slight swell of her stomach and then further south to explore the soft mat of hair awaiting his focus. She writhed up into his hand, moaning and pleading as he fingered her. Needing him as much as he needed her.

This was a battle, conquering the enemy. Jousting for position, feeding off raw need and adrenaline. Sweat formed a thin sheen along his back, spreading across broad shoulders, glistening on tight muscles flexing and spasming. His chest was panting, his heart beating fierce, near bursting as it roared toward fruition. Unable to hold back any longer, he lined up and entered her, her tightening around him, moving with him, giving as well as taking. Passion consumed him, all focus on the primal need to mate, to claim and dominate. It was pure, just like there. Pure lust and need. His mind finally shut off, moving totally on instinct. He grunted as his pace accelerated, pushing harder, deeper and deeper, rutting into her hard and fierce. The need for conquest controlling him. Survival all he knew, all he was.

The bed was bouncing, thumping against the wall, the action furious. All pretense of control vanished, the urgency immediate, undeniable. It was fight or die. Feral and mindless. His body demanding, producing a punishing pace, faster and faster, harder and harder.

In the end he lasted longer than he would have thought, more than a year of chastity ending on a scream. He exploded into her, shaking apart from the force of his orgasm. Spent and yet supercharged. Heavy breaths and ragged gasps releasing as the energy in the room filtered out and silence resumed.

Lingering for a moment longer, he shuddered over her before winding down and pulling out. Expelling that last held gasp of air, he collapsed on his back beside her, his chest wildly expanding and then contracting, his entire body throbbing. Wasted and yet fully alive. As alive as he'd been on the hunt.

He closed his eyes and laid there. Drawing back, deep inside. Everything was dark in his head, empty, alone. The warm afterglow an ember, just a slight flicker of hope struggling to light the inner passages. He felt. He just wasn't sure what he felt. So many warring emotions: rage and fear, control and freedom, relieved and yet wary. On edge, still waiting for something. Still needing. Still doubting.

A soft hand wandered across his chest, fingers circling his perky nipples, her body finally rising up and coming down again half on him, resting her face in the furrow of his shoulder, snuggling in. They laid there in silence, coming down from the frantic possession that had ruled them, their breathing evening out, finding that common rhythm. Her fingers felt good, safe even. The realization growing stronger, how much he'd missed touch. How cut off and alone he'd truly been. The ache that he felt made him feel naked all over again, exposed and vulnerable. Maybe he'd needed this as much as the other. That truth scared him, tension coiling again in his gut, waiting for the pain to reclaim him.

Her voice broke into the silence, cutting through his defenses and opening him up. "You're not there anymore."

Cold swept over him, frigid and paralyzing. His heart stuttered as his voice shattered. "What?" he croaked out. He stiffened beneath her, eyes squeezed closed before he forced them open, staring blankly at that perfect ceiling. Utilizing his hunter training to control the tremble that pulsed in his throat, forever denying, his voice went deeper, down to bedrock, as he responded. "Where?"

"Wherever you were." Thankfully she remained beside him, not looking at him directly. Her eyes fixed on his chest where her fingers lingered, again somehow knowing he didn't need further probing. Her words insightful enough. "You're a soldier, right? Back from the war?"

He remained still, not responding. Except for the subtle change to his body as his skin tightened and he shivered deep within. His eyes started to float in a sea of wetness as his breath hitched. Holding back…_holding on._

Making small circles her hand softly caressed his chest. Just gentle, soothing strokes. Not too much, just enough to make him feel…feel more and more. Need rippling beneath toned muscles as he trembled from that skin on skin contact.

His voice broke as he ventured out. "How'd you know?"

"I've seen the look." She then eased up over him, her tender eyes seeking out his, forcing her way in, compassion and caring on offer. "You're safe. You made it out."

He wasn't sure. He still felt trapped there. A sick part of him missed it, the energy of the place, the focus, the purity of it all. The adrenaline. How he never had time to question, himself or others. How it simply was. Survival, nothing else. How there, with no other options, he'd felt more alive than ever…and more dead.

"How long were you there?"

He didn't know why he was talking with her, that wasn't what he was paying for, wasn't what he'd come looking for. It was as if a secret lock had been picked and a door forced open. Something in her manner that moved him to relax and reveal. Maybe it was the arrangement, someone paid to fulfill his needs. Someone temporary, a test of his limits and, if it didn't work, someone he'd never have to face again. Whatever it was, he went with his gut. "Year…I was gone a year."

"How bad was it?"

He tensed, unable to control that base reaction, his mind traveling back, swirling from the hushed sounds and strong emotions, held tight until this moment. He shuddered again. "Bad."

"Maybe if you talked about it." She continued touching him, warmth and comfort freely given. Her voice was inquisitive but not intruding, offering him the chance to talk it out, silently accepting if he chose not to. "What was it like?" she gently probed. Her concern genuine, if his knowledge of people held true.

In response he started stroking her shoulder, just gentle brushes, absently caressing something soft. He found it to be a comfort, relaxing him into the moment, allowing him a refuge and grounding him in the now. His voice was deep but clear, rumbling forth with the weight of all he felt. "Like?" He closed his eyes and focused, remembering, running through the woods in pursuit, coming upon the beast and taking it out. The look in its eyes, fear and resignation, letting go as he slit its throat. "Constant," he whispered "…and pure."

Shifting beside him he felt her inch closer, protectively wrapping herself around his body, her voice still tender. "What's that mean?"

Not understanding why or how she'd taken him this far, he continued on. Maybe he needed to voice it so he could begin to understand, her simply a sounding board, someone to bounce notions off of. Whatever the reason he found he didn't want to hold back. "The horror of that place. The terror. It was always there. Around you. Within you." A shudder raced through him and he grimaced, just the talk of it bringing it all back. He coughed out a nervous gasp before barreling back into the depths, unwilling to run or hide. "It was pressure. Pushing you, weighing on you. It was 24/7, 360 degrees of sheer brutality." His hand on her shoulder froze, the tips of his fingers still touching her, but not enough contact to make a difference. "That kind of evil. It changes you."

Reaching up she took his hand in hers, fingers entwined over his, softness surrounding him. "I didn't know you before…but I know people. You're a good man."

"Wouldn't be so sure. Tonight…" his voice cracked, worn and weary, bitter in his assessment, "I was rough with you." He hated how he'd treated her, hated feeling this way. Hated thinking he wasn't a good man…but then he'd gotten used to that idea. He choked back a silent sob, asking what he most feared. "Did I hurt you?"

Quickly she came to his defense, her voice steady, no inflection of disgust or loathing. "No…_no_…I'm fine. You _didn't_."

"You sure…'cause that's not how I…" His voice trailed off, unsure of what he could say or what he meant. Knowing no excuse could justify his behavior.

Her voice sounded distant now, like she was stuck in the past, sorting through emotions, trying to set things straight in her own head. "I've been with men before…men who scared me…men I needed to tread softly around, fearful of what they were capable of. With you…"

"You _should_ fear me," he spat out. He retrieved his hand from her grip, his hand flexing, forming a fist, nails marking his palm. He pushed his torso up off of the bed, sitting on the edge, leaning over into himself, his back to her. "I'm dangerous."

She followed him up, draping herself over his shoulder, cooing in his ear. "I'm sure you are." She was stroking his back now, constantly touching, pressing but always tentative, ready to back off if he gave a sign. "Wouldn't want to get on your bad side."

Turning slightly he faced her, his eyes questioning, squinting in the dim light to see her better. Her eyes meeting his straight on, holding her ground. "You're not afraid?" he asked.

"No."

His voice was soft, almost wondrous. "Why?"

"You wouldn't hurt me," she plainly stated.

"You don't know that." He shuddered with rage and disgust, wanting to warn her. Purgatory a constant now, a reminder of all he was…all he could be. "You don't _know_ me."

"No, maybe not…but I know enough."

He slumped down, shoulders hunched over, back in Purgatory, the images and the horrors coursing through his veins, taunting him…_threatening_. Dejectedly he stated the facts, "You don't know what I've done…what I'm capable of…"

"Whatever it is…whoever you did it to, I'd say they deserved it."

Looking up he saw compassion and forgiveness. Tender words and kind eyes drawing him back, offering sanctuary. He fought the sentiment, unworthy…_punishing_. His voice was gravelly, as rough and brutal as that place. "Don't make it right."

"Right's a tangled web of lies most nights."

He allowed the silence to hold them, further words unnecessary. There was nothing more to say.

She seemed to understand, again giving him his space. Waiting him out, holding out for an opening.

He could only stand the silence for so long, the quiet eating away at him, not what he needed…not what he wanted. He wanted more, wanting something only she could offer. She'd gotten a glimpse of the man he'd become in Purgatory and yet she wasn't running, wasn't turning away…wasn't disgusted. His face was solemn and thoughtful as he turned back and captured her eyes.

Smiling slightly she responded by sidling up close again, rubbing at the tension in his shoulders while offering soft loving words, reaching out to embrace him. Massaging and distracting. He melted into the comfort offered, sinking down, drifting away. Purgatory growing distant, _now_ demanding all focus.

He allowed her to direct this encounter, relaxed enough to be tender, to make love as he normally would, caring for his partner, insuring it was as good for her as it was for him. This time they made love, soft and tender, warm and soothing…_satisfying._

It was slow and lazy, just as intense when the moment came, but meandering in how they got there. Wanting it to last, to matter. He felt warm again, no longer shivering and seeking out her warmth. Now offering his own.

Later that night she slept in his arms, providing comfort until the intrusion of the early morning sun. It was the longest he'd slept without waking up or facing down nightmares since his return. Four hours of uninterrupted peaceful slumber. It doesn't sound like a lot, but for him it was monumental. Well over a year since he'd had as much.

Neither wanted to stir, only surrendering when he nuzzled behind her, his plan for a farewell session welcome for both.

This was lovemaking between lovers who cared, who responded to familiar touches, laughing and playing with each other. Joyful in their interactions. One night all they had, determined to make the most of it. He forgot she was a prostitute, forgot he was paying. It had never mattered before, he was hardly one to judge or pretend he was above it. He too sold his services and was good at his job. He just didn't get paid. He had other means to provide a revenue source. Money wasn't the issue, for him or for her apparently.

She'd earned her money, earned his respect and thanks. He still felt hollow when his mind descended back into Purgatory. Still knew he left a piece of himself there. But tonight he'd rediscovered a piece that had gone missing, lying dormant deep inside. She'd drawn him out, allowed him to feel…allowed him to again care.

"Penny for your thoughts."

All focus turned to her, lying there beside him, looking radiant in the soft morning light. He leaned in for a kiss, soft and tender. Kitten licks drawing him back again and again, nibbling and tasting, sweet and inviting. Just like her smile had first promised. "You might be overpaying," he joked.

"Don't think so, think the bill would be much higher if it was priced right." She was beautiful in the morning, simply stunning…all carefree with her hair fluffed out across the pillow. She didn't fuss with her hair or reach to touch up her make-up to preserve an image, content to be who she was, a natural beauty.

He suckled her bottom lip back into his mouth, returning for more kisses, deepening them and making them count. He knew it would be a long time before he'd feel this comfortable with another woman, before he'd risk another encounter as intimate and telling. He doubted his next lover would be as intuitive or make him feel as normal as she did. Purgatory still haunted him, putting images in his head, tugging him back to the battle and plunging him into the pain. He wouldn't let it win, he couldn't. That's not who he was.

"You're a good kisser," she offered. A wicked grin slid across her face as she added, "Amongst other things."

"Really?" he teased, "What other things would that be?"

She giggled, like a schoolgirl caught looking in the men's locker room. It was jarring, totally out of context and making the realization that she was a hooker all the more intriguing. A hooker with a tender heart and sweet spirit and a story not yet revealed. He'd seen stranger in his day. He knew not to judge, knew that first impressions never exposed all the truths that souls like theirs held back.

Looking out at the rising sun, marking the day at almost 9:00 A.M., Dean knew he had to go. Sam would be expecting him. They had a job to do. Work demanding his attention as it always did. "Look…" he started before she cut him off.

Two fingers reached out and pressed against his lips to silence him. "Yeah, I know…" It was a last tender, fleeting moment of touch, sliding down across his full bottom lip before regretfully slipping away. "You need to go." She reached over and pulled on a long silk robe, white with a dragon print. It hugged her curves, the slit in the front opening allowing her legs to languidly slide out as she covered the few steps to the coffee maker on the counter, plugging it in and arranging two mugs in readiness. "You have time for a cup?"

His hand scrubbed down his face, already missing her touch, filing the night away in his memories and savoring what had been. He looked around, taking in the décor, blinking back the last of sleep and squinting, cocking a brow as his voice registered the smoky timbre that morning often brought. "Yeah…sure."

She turned with a bright smile, lighting up the room and looking relieved then acting quite pleased with herself. "It's my special blend," she happily announced.

It didn't take long for him to dress, his boots requiring the most effort, lacing up all those grommets somewhat time-consuming. The routine of it allowed him the time to shift back to reality, again ready to face the world beyond her door. Pulling the laces tight, he started to feel like himself, a hunter dressed for the kill, poised for the chase and the resultant fight.

As brave as he could be out there, he was man enough to admit to being a bit fearful of her special blend, being more a basic black kind of guy. As it turned out, his concern was misplaced. While being more flavorful than he was accustomed to, it was good. Maybe it was the company. In any case, he had two cups, not wanting to say goodbye, yet knowing it was inevitable.

"You better get going. I'm sure you have things to do out there."

"About that…"

She looked up, her full attention on him.

"What I do…it's not just over there, it's here too." He scribbled his cell number on the back of one of his cards and handed it to her. "If anything hinky comes up, anything at all. If you need help, you call me."

Reading the card she smiled, her brow rising in a gentle tease. "Bob Marley? F.B.I.?"

Grinning he shrugged his shoulders. "Ah…not so much….but seriously, I can help, whatever it might be."

"So…_Bob_…what's your real name?"

"Dean. It's Dean." His left brow quirked up and the fine lines around his eyes made a joyful appearance as he smiled, genuinely interested and expectant upon her answer. "So…what's yours?"

"Well, for Bob it would be Marilyn."

His grin broadened. "And for Dean?"

"Sally."

"Sally," he repeated with a slight nod of his head. "I like it."

She didn't ask for the money and he didn't offer it. That would diminish what they'd shared. He left all he had folded up on the side table by the bed. Eight hundred and fifty dollars. Enough that maybe she wouldn't go out for a few nights, maybe she'd stay in and stay safe. It was money she could use and he could easily replace.

It was far less than she'd given him.

The End

bjxmas

November 2012

All standard disclaimers apply.

_Whew…not sure what the response to this will be. Certainly not my normal fare and a bit edgy and risky, but then stretching myself as a writer is something I strive to hopefully achieve._

_I find it fascinating imagining the turmoil Dean must work through and all the possibilities. The complexity of his reactions and the constant struggle is why I still find it so satisfying to write about our intriguing hunter!_

_I always see Dean bringing out the best in people and I love showing someone who sees the good in him. He is good and deserving and we all know he isn't the insensitive slam-bam, thank-you-ma'am kind of guy. He's proven he's a loving, giving lover…one who is forced to accept what life on the road with no commitments entails._

_While this is from Dean's perspective and her motivations and some of his are left to interpretation, I really wanted to further explore her reaction to Dean. Delve more into how and why she seemed so in tune with his needs. As I've said before, I love capturing strangers' perceptions of Dean, love showing how they might see beyond that clever façade he's constructed to keep himself safe. Love the idea that they 'get' him as we do. Hence, I'm writing a companion story to this from her point of view. If you're interested the working title is Midnight Encounter. We'll see how that goes._

_Thanks for reading and comment away…_

_Later, B.J._


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